And the Rust Belt Is Crying Tears of Fire
Justin Karcher
A primordial codeine kind of night
11:56 PM
The confusion tastes like Peroni
The hypocrisy sounds like Bobby Darin
All the dream lovers are dragged out of their beds
Heavy lies the crown
Love looks like the empty ballrooms of Bidwell
The crust punks have crawled into cans of PBR to hibernate
I’ll rub down cheap beer until dreadlocked genies refuse my wishes
At this point, walking into Essex feels like I’m walking into King Tut’s tomb
I know I’m gonna unearth something
But there’s a big chance it will confuse the hell out of me
Tuesdays
Double whisky on the rocks because who cares
I suppose I will continue walking up and down the streets of Buffalo
Tonight someone told me, “I’m glad you’re not dead”
Me too
The flowers that smell the best are the ones you don’t see
The ones buried in the veins like capillaries
As long as they don’t smell like formaldehyde, you’re alright
You can still make it
Onward and upward
The men’s bathroom at the Pink with the lights off = existential crisis
I felt like Indiana Jones with a smartphone flashlight
Walking home now
The city has no idea what it wants to be
Like all of us I suppose
Tuesdays
“I have wasted my life.”
That’s a James Wright quote for all you poetry scholars out there
We want to live like ecstatic volcanoes
With hands that carry out unspeakable passion
And a love that preserves all in stone
Justin Karcher is a playwright and poet living in Buffalo, NY. He is the Co-Artistic Director of Theater Jugend as well as its Playwright-in-Residence. He is the author of Tailgating at the Gates of Hell from Ghost City Press, http://ghostcitypress.tumblr.com/gcp003. Recent works have been published in 3:AM Magazine, The Buffalo News, Plenitude Magazine, Melancholy Hyperbole, and more. He is the winner of the 2015 Just Buffalo Literary Center members' writing competition. He tweets @Justin_Karcher.